There's Something Wrong With You
by yellowcrayon7
Summary: When Parker is injured working a job, Eliot must take care of her. On the way he learns a bit about her past and why she is who she is.
1. Chapter 1

There was a job, another corporate loser trying to get away with fraud and embezzlement or whatever. She wasn't even sure what the company did. There had been so many jobs lately, one after another of these dirty sleazebags; she had been through dozens of names and costumes and nights without sleep, jumped off countless buildings and watched countless people cry with joy at seeing the results of her work.

So why Parker would wake up to find herself tied to a chair, her chest searing from the obvious discomfort of several cracked ribs, was a complete mystery to her. She recognized a few of the henchmen she had slipped past only seconds ago leaning over her with a flashlight in her eyes, and blinked furiously.

"What do you want with me?"

Talking hurt. She would keep that in mind from now on. Slowly the events of the past few minutes became clearer in her mind. Someone had come up from behind as she worked the locks on the office door, knocking her against the wall. She had felt him kicking her, yelling, and then dragging her down the hall to the bleach-scented utility closet where she was currently being held.

"You've been a very naughty girl," one of the henchmen, a shorter man with a crooked nose, said in a thick Eastern-European accent. Parker couldn't quite place it through the haze of her concussion. Sophie would know, she thought, but thinking about Sophie made her realize how much she could have screwed up the job. If she had been caught, the team's cover had been blown. The bad guys could be picking them up any minute. To make matters worse, her com was gone, probably smashed by the Russians, or Bulgarians, or whoever they were.

Parker's head throbbed and she fought the urge to slip back into unconsciousness, instead deciding to occupy her mind with something that never failed to keep her interest. Escape. She could make it out of the rope easily enough, it was an amateur job to be fair, but the guards were the real problem. If she could get one of them close enough to take his gun….

"Please," she whispered, barely loudly enough to be heard. "I'll tell you everything." She felt the men leaning in and five minutes later, she was sprinting down the hall to the giant glass window overlooking where the rest of the team was camped out. She had swiped the incriminating flash drive from one of the dead guards. Parker clipped her carabiner onto the chain of a heavy-looking chandelier, kicked through the window, and leapt, holding her breath against the pain.

The rope ended a few feet from the ground and Parker unclipped herself, letting herself fall. She yelled in pain as she hit the pavement, curling in on herself. Hardison's van was only a few cars away and he jumped out, running towards her.

"Aww God no, what happened? Parker! Are you okay?"

She gasped, her breaths painful, and held out the flashdrive. "Take it. Tell the others we're blown. You gotta leave now. Just leave me here."

He knelt next to her, scanning the lot for any sign of the others before looking down at her and trying to gauge the severity of her injuries. "Not happening. No. Come on, baby, hold on."

Nate's voice over the com, whose dealings with the mark Hardison had tuned out, suddenly became serious and low. "Hardison! What's going on over there? Is everything okay?"

"Nah, man, we're blown, we gotta leave now—"

"Okay then, everyone back to the van, Sophie, Elliot, Parker—"

Hardison looked down at the young thief, whose head had slumped to the side, her eyes closed. "Parker's here… she's hurt. Like really hurt. I dunno what to do, she can't walk, I dunno if she's gonna be okay…"

Eliot's voice cut in. "I'll be right there. Did you get what we needed?"

"Yeah, but—"

"Okay, you an' the others, run. Get that to the police. I'll take Parker to the hospital."

When Eliot arrived, Parker had slipped back into consciousness, awoken by the sharp pains in her side. He knelt beside her, lifting her into a sitting position with his broad, warm arms.

"Hey," she whispered.

"Hey," he said. "We're gonna get you some help, okay? I came to take you to the hospital."

"No!" she exclaimed, fighting weakly against Eliot's firm grip around her shoulders before slumping back against his chest in fatigue.

"Easy, girl," he said, trying to disguise his concern.

"I can't. They'll recognize me. I don't wanna be caught, not on something like this… it's just a concussion and a few cracked ribs. Take me to headquarters. Please." Her eyes became glossy with tears. Eliot was definitely not used to seeing Parker cry, or even close to crying.

He frowned, surveying the nasty cut on her forehead and deciding against lifting up her shirt to check there. There was no telling what she might interpret from that. "Alright. Can you stand?"

She made a feeble attempt before responding, "I don't think so." Wordlessly, he reached his other arm through the bend of her knees and lifted her, pulling her broken body gently against him. He made it to the car easily and balanced her on one arm while he opened the door of his pick-up and laid Parker inside. She blinked blearily as he took his place in the driver's seat and pulled out of the parking lot, and then her eyes slid closed.


	2. Chapter 2

Parker's eyes opened the way her feet tended to move across the ground: with speed, poise, and silence. There was something warm and soft around her, and her pain had been dulled somehow. She blinked a few times to focus on the ceiling above her, trying to decipher the cracked paint and water stains. The building where they were headquartered was new, and the hospital wouldn't have peeling paint. Forgetting her injuries, she sat up quickly.

The sharp intake of breath started Eliot from his chair by the window of what appeared to be an old fire house furnished sparely with dark leather chairs and a smooth wooden table, probably hand-carved. Parker's head hurt to take it all in. She was in Eliot's house.

"Whoa," he said, getting up and moving towards the bed, "Easy. S'okay." He helped Parker lean against the wall, supporting her head with his hand and moving the pillow to cushion her back.

Despite her look of exhaustion, Parker's voice was still sharp and quick as she said, "What am I doing here?"

Eliot huffed, holding in his frustration. "Headquarters isn't equipped for this kind of stuff. My place has painkillers and bandages and all that. I called Nate, everyone's fine, the bad guy's screwed over, don't worry. We'll head over there as soon as you're good enough to walk. How are you feeling now?"

"Better than I would have been if you hadn't forcibly drugged me, I guess. But let's wait a while before we try to pull another heist like that, okay?"

He smiled and sat down beside her on the thin, rickety bed, starting to pull down the edge of the woolen blanket. She tensed, clutching the cloth to her chest. "What are you doing?"

"Come on Parker, relax, I'm not going to hurt you. I just want to check how you're healing."

"No—no, I can check myself. Don't—just, I'm fine, don't…"

Eliot stood, holding his hands up in surrender as her face grew more desperate. "Listen, I'm only trying to help. Why'd you always gotta be so squeamish?"

"I'm not squeamish! I just… I don't like to be touched is all. Or… looked at, really." She turned away.

"Okay," he said, trying not to let the exasperation show in his voice. "I'm just gonna be real gentle, okay?"

She nodded, and lowered the blanket. Slowly, she pulled up her shirt to just under her breasts. "Check, then."

He gently laid his hand on her chest, trying to feel for the cracks. As soon as his hand brushed her skin, though, Parker flinched and whimpered. "Does that hurt?" he asked, alarmed.

She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head with a short, rapid motion.

Eliot lifted his hands and sighed. "Parker, I have to touch you in order to figure out what's wrong. Okay? So just calm down."

She nodded. He reached out to touch her again, watching her closely for signs of a freak-out. Yet again, as soon as he touched her, she gasped and tried to cower away. Eliot swore and paced to the window again, running his hands through his thick hair.

"I'm sorry," she said, her voice weak and shaky. "Really. I just can't…." she sniffed, and he turned to face her, surprised when he saw the morning light glinting off the tears on her cheek.

"Parker?" he said, quietly.

She was fidgeting with the hem of his blanket. "You know how you always say there's something wrong with me?" her voice was uneven and her shoulders started shaking.

He stepped towards her. "No, no, of course not, I was always just kidding."

"Well there is. And I don't know how to fix it. I don't know… how to be close to people. Trust them." She covered her face with her hands, sagging forward. She cried silently, he noted, but in a way that convinced him it wasn't just caused by physical pain or Vicodin.

Eliot approached the bed cautiously, afraid to scare or upset her more. "Parker?"

She looked up. He had never seen her so vulnerable, not even crumpled on the ground last night. His last defenses against forming an emotional connection with her dropped. "Hey, Parker. It's gonna be okay. I don't have to touch you right now. You just gotta tell me what's going on, okay." He gently sat down next to her and tilted his head down to look her in the eyes. "Everything's gonna be alright."


	3. Chapter 3

"Okay, I'll tell you what's wrong. Maybe. Just promise me you won't tell anyone else, especially Sophie, because she would freak out and that's never good." Parker looked at Eliot intently.

"Promise."

"And no more Vicodin, okay? Or whatever it was you dosed me with. I don't do drugs."

"Not sure about that one. Parker-in-pain is much less enjoyable company."

She frowned. "They make my head feel all fuzzy, though."

"Okay, okay, whatever. No more pills. Now, what's bothering you?"

Parker pushed her hair back tentatively. After a moment, she spoke. "Remember the job, last month. Armenian insurance guy or banker or something, we drove him crazy in the hospital…. After that, you left and I know it was wrong but I followed you. And I saw you watch the cops take that kid away from his dad, and I saw his bruises…"

She broke off speaking and chewed on her front lip as if trying to determine the best way to word her next question.

"Eliot, did your father abuse you?"

Eliot coughed a little, and despite the inches between them she felt his posture tense. "What does—" She cut him off with a glance. "As long as I don't have to talk about it, then, yes. He did."

She nodded. "Okay. Then I can tell you this, because you might get it."

"Considering it's you, I probably won't," he said, grinning, "but seriously, you can tell me anything."

Parker resumed attempting to pull apart the woolen fabric of the blanket with her thumbnail, and began her story. "I was in the foster system forever, basically. Like since birth forever, or not long after, but whatever. Just… I had a lot of foster parents. When I was maybe twelve or so my foster mother got a DUI and I got put with this single guy who…"

She trailed off and put her head in her hands. "God, I don't know how to do all this emotion crap. I've never… told anyone this before. He raped me. There's not really any other way to say that."

Parker straightened and looked Eliot in the eye, fighting back tears. "I don't know why, but when you touched me, I felt his hands and… and suddenly I feel like I'm twelve again, still just a lost little girl trying to figure out what's going on and I don't know how to escape that feeling."

She let herself be overcome by sobs and lay her forehead on Eliot's chest. After a moment he tenderly patted her back, still uncertain if touching her wasn't okay.

When she had regained enough control to lift her head, she took a deep, shuddering breath. "Sorry for losing it. It's just, I don't do well with painkillers and I still feel crappy about screwing up our job."

"You don't have to make excuses."

"You can touch me now if you need to."

Eliot nodded. "Lay back." He cradled her in his arms and adjusted the pillow so she could lie down comfortably. He slowly lifted her shirt and softly, his fingers traced the cracks in her ribs to feel if they had begun healing. The bruising on her chest was still a vibrant purple but he was optimistic. "Looks like you'll be good enough to jump off buildings in no time."

Meanwhile, Parker was lying still with her eyes half-closed. "Your hands are cold," she said. "It feels nice."

"You get some sleep," he said, pulling her shirt down. "We gotta meet up with the others in a couple hours."

"Wait!" she called as he walked away.

"Hmm?"

"Thirsty." She smiled blithely, and Eliot mirrored her grin. That's the Parker he knows.

A few minutes later he returned to her side with an empty beer bottle filled with water.

"So… you don't have cups?" Parker asked with a skeptical frown. She sniffed the bottle's contents.

Eliot shrugged. "No dishwasher."

She sipped tentatively before taking a giant swig of water, sighing contentedly at the relief it provided for her aching head.

He attempted to walk away again before being stopped by her saying, "Eliot?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks."

He nodded awkwardly and half-smiled.

"No, really," she said. "Thanks."

Eliot tilted his head and Parker could have sworn he looked a bit surprised. She was a bit surprised herself, as she didn't tend to be so forthcoming. There was something nice about telling him. She felt like she wasn't as heavy anymore. It was like how the wind would catch her as she was falling from a skyscraper and slow her descent until she could find her balance. She felt genuine. She felt weightless.

Eliot brushed her tangled hair from her face and whispered, "Sweet dreams, Parker."


	4. Chapter 4

When Parker next awoke, the loft was empty. Dust hung in the shafts of light that poured through Eliot's tall windows. She stood up slowly, ignoring the dull throbbing of her chest, and looked around. An antique dresser stood in the corner, the tails of plaid shirts spilling out of its partly open drawers. There was a small, older TV on a crate in the middle of the room, its antenna crooked. Otherwise, the crates of beer sitting on top of a mini-fridge in the corner and the copies of _Hustler_ and _Sports Illustrated_ she found under the couch were the only indication anyone had lived there in the last century or so.

There was a loud clang and the massive metal door that was where the fire engines might have exited at one point slid open. Parker stuffed the magazines back beneath the couch just as Eliot walked in carrying a grocery bag and pulled the door closed behind him.

"You're up," he said, as he turned around. "How are you feeling?"

She shrugged. "I've always had a high tolerance for pain."

"Okay, whatever. I think that may have something to do with the painkillers I slipped you," Eliot said, laughing. Parker scowled.

He began to empty out the grocery bag, putting a bottle of Scotch, a carton of milk, and a raw steak in the refrigerator and tossing Parker a box of Lucky Charms. "I don't have bowls, but you can eat out of the box."

Parker opened it, suddenly realizing how hungry she was. "What time is it?"

"Two thirty."

She nodded before remembering that she had no context for this information. "Um… what day is it?"

"Wednesday. You slept through yesterday, pretty much."

Parker raised her eyebrows. "Seriously? Oh. Sorry."

"Don't worry about it. I thought about waking you up but you looked like you could use the sleep."

"Oh. Well, thanks, then."

Eliot nodded and headed to sit down on the couch. He turned the TV on to ESPN. Parker sat down carefully next to him, munching on a handful of cereal.

"So… what is this place? Do you live here?"

He muted the TV. "Well, yeah. A second cousin of mine was the fire chief here before they closed it down and relocated. He got me a good deal on the place."

"But why don't you have… like… stuff?"

He frowned at her. "I thought you didn't like stuff."

"Don't you, though?"

Eliot shrugged, answering evasively, "I don't spend much time here anyway."

Parker moved closer to him, sensing a mystery. "But you have money. Can't you get a nice TV and a bed that's long enough for you?"

"I have what I need. I guess I just prefer a simpler life. And, with my job I gotta be on the move so much it's stupid to get too comfortable."

She brought her feet up onto the couch, so she was kneeling and facing Eliot. "Are you planning on leaving town soon?"

Eliot, who had been reaching for the remote to turn the volume back up, turned to her. "What? No, of course not. I've just never been the type to settle."

She kept pressing him despite how he avoided her questions. "Just, cuz, I kind of thought working with the crew was different from how you've always been. How… we've always been. Never stopping too long, never getting close to people. I just thought it was different now."

"I'm still a wanted man, Parker. I never know what's gonna happen." He leaned back, stretching his arm out along the top of the couch.

"Yeah, but you're a wanted man with friends now." She pressed her lips together in an uncertain smile.

Eliot searched her face, a slight frown creasing his forehead. "You can be very surprising sometimes."

"You too."

The two thieves grinned at each other for a minute. Parker's head rested partially against Eliot's arm, her hair brushing his skin. She wasn't entirely sure what was happening. She broke the moment abruptly, asking, "Does this place have a bathroom, because I could really use a shower right now."

Eliot pointed to a small door near the bed. "Through there. You can borrow some clothes, if you want to, but they'll probably be huge on you."

She shrugged, wrinkling her nose. "These ones are all smelly, though."

"Okay, then, whatever." He gestured to the dresser. "Help yourself."

Parker sifted through Eliot's clothes, finding comfort in the soft flannels and cotton and the distinctive smell of fresh laundry and old wood that pervaded them. She had never been able to place Eliot's scent before now. She grabbed a faded gray t-shirt and some athletic shorts and headed for the bathroom.

"Hey, and Nate wants to everyone to meet up in a half-hour or so, if you're up for it."

Parker nodded eagerly. "Ready for anything."


	5. Chapter 5

Parker emerged from the bathroom minutes later, smelling of soap. Eliot's clothes hung off of her small frame and revealed the bruises on her ankles and wrists. "I look like an idiot," she said.

"Hey," Eliot said, "that's my clothes you're talking about."

She glared.

"Grab your cereal, we're heading out. And here," he said, tossing her a leather jacket, "wear this, it's cold."

Parker caught the jacket, picked up the box of Lucky Charms, and followed Eliot outside. He pulled the door shut behind her.

The car ride to headquarters was mostly silent. Parker swore when Eliot swerved too fast, and he muttered, "Sorry." They rode the elevator together and Eliot slowed his usually brisk pace down the hall to match Parker's still uncertain gait.

When they entered the room, Sophie squealed. "Parker! Oh my god, are you alright?" She pulled the younger woman into a hug. Parker drew a sharp breath, and recoiled.

"Still a little sore," she said, smiling hesitantly.

"Oh, sorry!" Sophie said, giggling nervously, "Should have known."

Parker shrugged and made her way to the table, gripping the edge as she slowly lowered herself into a chair. Hardison sat next to her and leaned in, speaking softly. "Hey, you know Parker—"

"Hardison, let's get started with this. We don't have much time," Nate cut in from across the room.

"Okay, yeah, whatever," Hardison said, appearing flustered as he stood and brandished the remote at the screen. An image appeared of a middle-aged, plump man grinning as he held a gold shovel on a construction site. "This is George Trent at the groundbreaking of the new housing development, Sunflower Meadows, two years ago. Now, we know and he knows that there's still residue of radiation from the nuclear power plant that used to be on that location, but apparently it's still legal to sell homes there, and he's trying to keep it a secret that the land is bad. So far no one's died but a couple terriers, but our client's kid has cancer and no way to prove that this guy caused it."

Parker started to zone out, letting Hardison's words pass over her in a rush of sound. Her head was pounding, and every breath made her feel like her chest was about to burst. She breathed shallowly, her vision spinning.

"Okay, and then Parker," Hardison was saying. She looked up, alert at the sound of her name. "You'll lay low and help me with surveillance, sorting through stuff about the mark, and all that."

Parker frowned. "Lay low? I hate laying low. Can't I infiltrate something?"

Nate sighed, turning to her with a serious expression. "Parker, you just killed someone with ties to the Russian mob. We're not sending you out there."

"I… what? When did I kill a Russian?" Parker shook her head, laughing nervously. Her heart raced.

Nate glared at Eliot. "Um… I hadn't gotten to that part yet," the hitter mumbled.

"No, that's not possible. I mean, I'm not even a good fighter, I barely managed to knock any of them out, so how could I have killed someone?" Her voice took on a note of hysteria.

Hardison pressed a few buttons on the remote and a picture of the crooked-nosed henchman filled the screen. "He was pronounced dead yesterday afternoon. Blunt-force trauma. His friends say they'd be able to identify the killer. They described you as 'small, blonde, and injured.' So yeah, laying low's probably a good idea right now."

"I guess I'm a better fighter than I thought." Parker stood, her arms crossed against her aching chest, and moved towards the door.

"Where are you going?" Nate said, trying to keep his voice gentle.

She stopped a few feet from the door. "My head hurts. You don't need me for the case anyway, so can I just go home?"

"Parker…" Sophie said, standing and walking towards her. "I know how you must feel right now." She placed a motherly hand on Parker's shoulder.

"Have you ever killed anyone before?" Parker challenged sharply.

"Well, no, but I have hurt people. Everyone makes mistakes and it's very hard for a while to deal with the guilt, but eventually you just have to forgive yourself and move on."

Parker looked down at her feet, which were crossed at the ankle. She chewed on her lip. "Okay."

Sophie smiled. "Alright. And I think you'll agree it's probably safer if you stay here for a while, with one of us to keep you safe?"

"Like a babysitter?" Parker asked, vaguely disgusted.

"No…" Sophie said, looking at Nate for assistance.

"More like a… watchdog," he added from the couch.

"I'm a cat person," Parker complained.

Sophie rolled her eyes. "Well, whatever you'd like to call it is fine. Now, here, let's get you some water and an aspirin for that headache." She led Parker into the kitchen, leaving the three men behind.

"Is she going to be okay?" Nate asked, watching them exit.

Eliot shrugged. "She seemed to be healing okay."

"She's acting way weird though," Hardison noted.

"It's been a rough couple of days for her," Eliot said. He unbuttoned his sleeves and pushed them up, remembering Parker's request to keep what she had told him a secret.

"Whatever, man. All I know is, that's not the Parker I'm used to. She looks all tiny and sad now."

Parker and Sophie returned to the table, Parker sipping a glass of water. She swept her hair back, momentarily revealing the gash on her forehead, which had scabbed over and resolved itself into a dark bruise.

"Ouch," Hardison said.

"Oh, sweetheart," Sophie gasped, "Do you want me to take a look at that?"

Parker arranged her bangs over the wound. "Eliot handled it."

"Don't you want to put a bandage over it or something?"

"It's better to let it breathe," Eliot griped from across the table.

Parker looked around at her four fellow crew members, all of whom were looking at her with concerned frowns. "Listen, everyone, can you all just stop worrying about me and get back to the meeting? I'm fine."

Nate appeared somewhat taken aback, but quickly recovered. "Okay, meeting's over. Hardison, you take the first shift of Parker-watch." Hardison grinned at Parker, who pursed her lips and scowled. "Sophie and I will get ready to meet Mr. Trent, and Eliot can go home and get some rest. We'll need you at full strength tomorrow."

Eliot nodded and made to leave the room. As he walked past Parker's chair, he reached down to gently squeeze her shoulder. "He deserved to die for beating you up like that," he whispered, close enough that only Parker heard it. She couldn't help but smile a little.


	6. Chapter 6

Parker and Hardison spent the first four hours together playing Halo 3. At first, Hardison won every game, but he soon discovered Parker's exceptional learning curve. About three hours in she began to catch up.

"Ooh! I just exploded you. This game is fun. And I think I'm pretty good at it, too."

"Pretty good? Parker, you're whooping me and I'm practically nationally ranked at this game. It's taken me months to get up to this level." He said the last part with a touch of resentment.

She grinned. "Oh. Well, cool."

Hardison huffed and stared at the ceiling, sighing, "Why is pure talent always wasted on weird people?"

After one particularly crushing victory, Parker collapsed into the couch in excited laughter. "Girl, you are—" Hardison began, shaking his head in embarrassment.

"Pushing your buttons?" she questioned, raising an eyebrow. His scowl sent her into another fit of giggling, which was cut short abruptly when she began to cough, her brow knitted in pain.

"Hey, you okay?" Hardison asked, placing his hand on her back. Parker was bent over, shaking as the coughs wracked her body. He pulled her upright, quickly handing her the glass of water next to the couch. She downed it in one sip.

After a moment of deep breaths, Parker said, "Okay, laughing, bad. Could you maybe get me some ice?" He rushed to the kitchen and soon returned with a Zip-loc bag full of ice cubes wrapped in a paper towel.

"There you go. Do you need anything else?"

She pulled the ice pack close to her chest and sunk back into the cushions, laying her head against the arm of the couch and curling her legs beneath her. "I'm just gonna close my eyes for a minute. Wake me up if the Russians come."

In seconds, she was asleep. Hardison grabbed a blanket that was thrown across the back of a chair and draped it over her small form. He shifted down so Parker could stretch her legs further. Then, feet resting on the coffee table and chin balanced in the heel of his hand, Hardison closed his own eyes.

He awoke to someone shaking his shoulder. He started, his elbow slipping on the smooth leather. "Who's there?" he cried, disoriented.

Eliot Spencer stood over the hacker, raising an eyebrow. "Sleeping on the job?"

Hardison rubbed his neck, cringing. "Yeah, well, the job was sleeping too," he grumbled, nodding at the expanse of couch next to him.

"Um, Hardison…" Eliot began. Hardison looked. The couch was empty, and the blanket he had draped over Parker was piled messily on the carpet.

Hardison jumped up, suddenly alert. "Parker's gone. The Russians have her, we've gotta go." He grabbed Eliot's arm and attempted to pull him towards the door. Eliot didn't move. "What?"

"She's in the kitchen making dinner."

Hardison cleared his throat. "Okay. Yeah. Got it."

Eliot shoved a hand through his hair. "You know the Russians wouldn't have just left you sleeping there, right?"

"Yeah, I know," Hardison said, glowering. He straightened his hoodie and headed for the kitchen.

"Maybe you should go home now, Hardison, get all your computer stuff ready for the heist tomorrow. I can take over here."

Parker was standing over the stove, stirring a giant pot of macaroni. "Ooh, tomorrow?" she exclaimed. "Good luck!"

"Thanks," Hardison murmured. "You know, I'm fine staying here, I can manage—" Eliot cut him off with a firm slap on the shoulder.

"Why don't you take off, Hardison," he said through a tense smile.

The younger man shrugged. "Bye, Parker."

"Bye!"

"You're awfully chipper," Eliot said as the door closed.

Parker nodded energetically. "Hardison showed me how to make coffee."

Eliot frowned. "And did you drink any?" he asked slowly.

She nodded again. He cringed. "I'm gonna kill that kid," he muttered.

Parker didn't hear, and continued working on the macaroni. She reached for a colander and placing it in the sink, began to tip the pot so that the boiling water poured out. The edge of the pot rested precariously on the counter. "Need some help with that?" Eliot asked.

"No," she objected, "I know how to make mac & cheese."

A moment later, the pot began to slip and knocked the colander out of place. Parker squealed, attempting to bring it upright while saving the slippery noodles from sliding down the drain. Luckily, Eliot was close enough to grab the pot and hold it steady with a dishtowel as she salvaged the remaining macaroni. "Jesus, Parker, careful."

"Sorry," she mumbled. They ate the macaroni in relative silence. She took the Obituaries section of the paper, browsing for estate sales to steal from. She never actually robbed people just for the sake of robbing them anymore, but it was an old habit and she liked imagining it. Eliot grabbed the Sports section and leaned back in his chair, the macaroni bowl in his lap.

Afterwards, Eliot disinfected the wound on her head as Parker squirmed and winced. "Stop it! It stings!"

"You'll thank me later," he grumbled, holding her still by the jaw. When he had finished they sat side by side on the couch, a sizeable distance between them. "Wanna watch TV?" he asked, feeling uncomfortable at the long silence.

She shrugged. "We could play a game."

"Like, what?" Eliot asked, dreading the answer. Parker grinned mischievously.

"Hide and seek."

He broke out laughing. "That would just be so not fair."

"Okay then," Parker said, slightly disappointed but notably flattered, "you pick a game."

"We could just talk. I still can't figure out how you managed to escape four armed Russians and jump out of a building without dying."

She leaned close, her eyes sparkling. "Neither can I, really. I hit one of them with his own gun, and I don't really remember what happened after that. I clipped my rope to the chain of a chandelier, and then… well I woke up in your fire department."

"It's not actually a fire department anymore. Good job with the gun, though, quick thinking."

"He was holding it too close," she said, "It was easy."

Eliot grinned, a surprisingly tender smile, and said, "That's my girl."

Parker matched his expression, but her eyes were troubled. She cleared her throat hesitantly. "Eliot?" she began, "Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure," he said, turning towards her and resting his elbow on the back of the couch.

Parker looked down at her hands. "How do you live with killing people?"

Eliot swallowed. He had expected this from her, someday, and it should have crossed his mind earlier that this was what she so desperately wanted to know, but after the last few days the memory of all the murders he had committed was distant and seemingly harmless.

His voice took on a hushed and trembling quality when he spoke. "You don't," he whispered.

Without looking at her, Eliot reached across and took Parker's hand, lacing his fingers between hers.

"You don't."


	7. Epilogue

Parker was having a nightmare. She had curled up on the couch, her head sliding down Eliot's shoulder to settle finally in his lap. He hadn't minded. He was surprised how much he hadn't minded, actually, considering how much he hated people touching him.

She had looked into his eyes, sighed, and for once it seemed she had understood the words that were coming out of his mouth. "You don't get over it," he had said.

Her eyes had been teary and wide. "Then how do I stop feeling like this? Hurt and awful and… guilty."

He had cleared his throat. Eliot didn't cry, not ever, not once, but sometimes he felt like it. "You let the violence become a part of you. Then you accept that part and let it in but just don't go there often. Not until you really need to."

"Like a room in a house."

"Exactly. A room that reminds you of bad stuff. You just have to close the door, okay?"

Parker had nodded. Similes worked for her, he would remember this. She squeezed her eyelids shut and concentrated for a moment. "Okay. It's closed."

He had grinned, and pulled her close so her head rested on his shoulder. She dropped off after a few minutes and then hours later she was writhing in her sleep, her little hands clutching at Eliot's jeans, moaning with her forehead crinkled.

"Stop it. Stop it. Stop it don't touch me. Please…" she whimpered.

Eliot placed a hand on her shoulder, shaking her gently. "Hey," he whispered. "It's just a nightmare, everything's okay, Parker."

She sat up straight, her head colliding with his chin. She breathed heavily, eyes swimming. "Sorry. Sorry, I didn't mean to—" Parker stood abruptly, wincing slightly and heading for the door. She grabbed her coat and made to open the door when Eliot came up behind her and gently punched her stomach.

Parker doubled over, wheezing. She fell to her knees on the floor. Eliot knelt beside her, hand on her back to steady her. "You're in no condition to leave."

"I know," she said, dry-sobbing. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

He picked her up bridal style for the second time in the past week and let her crumple against his chest. "What's wrong, Parker? You've gotta tell me."

She calmed a bit, her breathing steady. "The door opened."

"And the Russian was there?" he said, brow furrowed.

"No. My foster dad. The one who—the one I told you about. He was there and he started to… do things to me, and it was so real, because it was real it wasn't even a dream it was a memory."

Eliot cleared his throat. "Oh god, Parker, I'm sorry. I can't even imagine. You know there are people to talk to. Counselors, who can help people like you."

"People like me?"

"Well, no one's like you, exactly. But… rape victims."

"Oh," she said. She turned a deeper shade of red, not just from pain but from actual shame. "I don't want to talk to a counselor. I want to talk to a friend. Like you."

"I dunno if I can help you with this kinda stuff though. You can't exactly put a lock on the door."

She brightened. "Well, of course you can." She closed her eyes and breathed deep. "Done," she said happily. "I get it now."

"What?"

"Why they say that thing about how love heals."

Eliot felt his stomach tighten. "Has anyone ever told you that you're beautiful?"

She shook her head. Eliot's eyes began getting a little misty.

"You're beautiful, Parker. You're the most beautiful person I've ever met."

The two were still kneeling on the floor, Parker cradled in Eliot's lap. She wrapped her arm around his neck and leaned in, kissing him gently on the lips. "That's for punching me."

Eliot frowned at her, quizzically. "There's something wrong with you."

She looked down, pulling away.

He grabbed her waist, tugging her back towards him softly. "I like it," he said, capturing her lips in his.


End file.
